The Second Lightest

Her phone rang that night as she sat curled up on the sofa with Fritz. They were watching his ballgame together and Brenda couldn't be more bored.

She tried to like baseball, really, she did, but never in her life had she been forced to watch such a long winded process.

Worse than office politics. Slower than the DA's office. Snail's pace.

So when her phone rang, Brenda lunged for it immediately. Fritz glared but she chose to stay ignorant to his blatant disapproval.

"Yes?" She sounded eager, even to her own ears. "Hello?"

"Brenda." It was Sharon. "This isn't a bad time, I hope."

"No...no...just, um, watchin' the ballgame, is all."

The brunette was silent as the seconds ticked by and Brenda could just about imagine her, sitting there, calculating her tone and processing the information.

"Oh," Sharon settled on saying and Brenda was grateful - yes, grateful - for the woman's outstanding powers of observation and the tiny, little fact that she knew Brenda better than, well, most people.

"Yes. So." She glanced at Fritz. "What can I do for you, Sharon? Not a work call, I hope." What a big fat lie, Brenda thought to herself, what she wouldn't give for a body or two.

"Oh, no. Actually, I'm in a bit of pickle."

"You are?"

"You see, I was going to go to the ballet tomorrow with my friend but he had to cancel. Some sort of work emergency. And I was wondering if you-"

"Yes!" Brenda interrupted. "I'd love to. Haven't been to the ballet in years!"

"Oh, great!" Sharon sounded relieved, as if she had expected Brenda to say thanks, but no thanks. "Dinner beforehand? I have reservations already and that place is notoriously difficult to get into."

"Dinner?" She glanced at Fritz again who, by then, looked at her in disbelieve. "Sure. Um, do you wanna meet there, or..?"

"I'll text you the address. Six o'clock?"

Brenda smiled. "Six o'clock it is!"

"Okay, great. Um." Sharon chuckled, the sound barely concealing her self-conciousness. "Bye, Brenda."

"Bye, bye now." She hung up and mashed her mouth shut, the phone back in its spot on the coffee table.

"Gosh," Fritz said evenly, still looking at her as if she had been miraculously replaced by an alien. "And to think you actually hate that woman."

Contrite, Brenda crossed her arms and flung herself onto the sofa cusions. "You can mock me all you like but may I remind you who has been goin' on and on at me about findin' friends? You, as far as I recall."

"Yeah?" Fritz pressed play to resume the game he had paused. "Couldn't you have found somebody else?"

"No," Brenda said. "'Sides, you don't get to pick my friends...or friend."

He snorted at that, angry, and watched his game while Brenda was left to contemplate her wardrobe.

"How do you afford these places?" Brenda whined over the menu.

"I don't have a mortgage," Sharon said from right across. "And I've spent the last ten years, mostly successfully, disentangling my finances from my husband's."

"I felt that way about my first husband." Brenda bit her lip, blushing at the unusually intimate details she was divulging. "We weren't married long but I always felt a bit like his cash cow."

"I became a cop to help my husband through law school. Only 'til he passed the bar, he said, but instead he ended up in one."

"Oh, my," Brenda murmured.

"And then he gambled away all of our savings-"

"No!"

"-and then he cheated on me with his secretary."

Brenda swallowed, hard, and put the menu down. "I think I'm havin' the risotto."

"Me, too. And a glass of Chardonnay."

As they waited for their food, Brenda tried to come up with things to say. She found it easier to converse with criminals, they didn't have expectations but Sharon was different. They had never made the effort and talked, not much anyway. Conversations had included hotel room numbers and time tables.

After further contemplation, Brenda realized that that wasn't entirely true. They had talked, and not just about work. Intimate conversations, things that usually required a great deal of trust in the person sitting opposite you. The blonde mulled that over for a moment, while the silence stretched. She felt rather stupid for sitting there, mute, when she had tons of things to say.

This woman wasn't a stranger. She knew her, intimately.

Her green eyes and how they sparkled with mirth, how they shone with unshed tears. Sharon's laugh, throaty and bemusingly uncouth. Her favorite robe. The silk one that was a bit short.

Her dislike of anything cilantro.

That her favorite color was purple - not violet, but purple.

"What?"

Brenda blinked, lost in thought, and realized she was smiling. "Oh. Just really like your dress. You always look great in purple."

Sharon looked down at herself then back at Brenda, her eyes wide. "Oh." A blush crept over her features. "Thank you."

"So? Who cancelled on you?"

"Jonathon."

Sharon said his name as if it should ring a bell, however, it did not. "Who?"

"Doctor Morales."

"I never knew his name..."

"He said it about fifty thousand times in court. He spelled it. Right in front of you."

Brenda bit down on her lip and was grateful when the waiter arrived with the wine. Merlot for her. A great vintage, too. Completely wrong to have with the risotto, of course. Sharon cared, Brenda didn't.

"So, you're friends?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

Sharon smirked, wine glass halfway to her lips, and said, airily, "Since I told him that I'm gay and he decided to introduce me to this fabulous lifestyle."

Brenda chuckled, she couldn't help it and was pleased when the brunette smiled at her - that warm smile that always made Brenda's toes tingle.

"He takes me to all the best places. Apparently."

The blonde guffawed and drank her wine which, she discovered, was delicious.

"So. Brenda. You've been to the ballet before?"

Brenda nodded. Should she lie? Instead she went with a half truth. "Been to Russia a coupla times, is all."

"Wow!" Sharon exclaimed. "That must've been-" She stopped abruptly, realization dawning, then nodded slowly. "Oh. Okay. Ha."

"Yeah," Brenda said, eyes scanning the restaurant. "That was quite somethin'."

"I can imagine."

"You're a big ballet fan then?"

"Oh, yes. My daughter is a dancer. A ballerina in fact. In New York."

"That sounds excitin'."

Sharon shrugged. "It isn't, really. She's always broke and complaining about her work hours. But, I guess, she's doing what she loves, which not a lot of us can say."

"I can't say I love what I do, that would be morbid," Brenda grumped. "But I can't imagine myself doin' anythin' else. You said you were only a cop to help pay for your husband's law degree."

"Oh, yes. I wanted to be a lawyer myself but once we, uh, ended up with all these financial burdens, and the kids, well, I guess I just settled for this."

Brenda saw the regret in Sharon's eyes, an opportunity missed, a dream unrealized, a life never lived. "From where I'm standin'," she said quietly, "all I see is someone who is very passionate about what she's doin'. Someone with work ethic and drive. Someone who tries to be the best, every day."

Shrugging, Brenda picked up her glass again. "Don't seem to me like it's turned out all that bad in the end."

After a moment, Sharon smiled, her eyes dancing around the room, contemplating. "I suppose. And, yes, I am very passionate about my work. As are you."

"I think that's why Pope thought we'd be best buds or somethin'."

"Because we're both women," Sharon said evenly. "Or because we're both driven bitches, our sole purpose is to inconvenience him."

"Ha! I like that!"

Sharon lifted her glass and clinked it against hers. "To bitches everywhere."

The ballet was great. The seats, too, which Sharon insisted were paid for - Jonathon's treat.

Sharon knew a great many things about ballet and, for once, Brenda felt contend to just listen. It gave her a chance to gather some intel, as Fritz liked to call it.

He thought she was always on a mission - quite telling, really, considering that this was his opinion of how she conducted relationships. Most of the time, and that was something perhaps even Fritz wasn't aware of, she found what people said, and then did, immensely fascinating.

Sharon was a walking contradiction. A rotten liar, too.

"What is it?"

Brenda shrugged and smiled. "Just thought you'd win jack at poker, is all."

"Poker?" Sharon chuckled as they made their way out of the theatre. "I'm the worst! How did you know?"

"Somethin' I picked up in Russia."

"You've lost me."

Brenda smiled again. "Don't worry, Sharon, s'not a bad thing."

The brunette said nothing, perhaps mulling it all over, trying to figure out what exactly Brenda had meant then she said, "Coffee? As we don't have to get up for work tomorrow."

The blonde nodded before she could overthink it - besides, Fritz was at home, with his bad mood. Nevermind that the reason for his mood stood right there. "Sounds fun!"

"Okay," Sharon said, her voice cheerful and light. "We can go to my place if you like...or we could, uh, go to-"

"Your place," Brenda said as they approached the car park, handing their tickets to the valet.

"Oh," the young guy said, looking at the tickets. "Uh, there's a problem with your vehicle," he said to Sharon. "It has a flat."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Do you have a spare? I could change it for you, no problem."

A flat. Brenda trailed behind Sharon, a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could tell that the brunette thought the same thing, hoping against her gut feeling that it was just a coincidence.

The car was parked at the back right next to the chain link fence. The space to its left was unoccupied. Brenda looked up, searching for cameras, just in case, and found one attached to the fence, right beneath a broken lamp.

It was immediately visible that the front left tire was flat and Brenda, perhaps much to Sharon's annoyance, bent right down, flash light at the ready.

"Slashed," she concluded.

"What?" The young guy said. "But no one's allowed in here."

That was of little importance to Brenda.

"What do you want me to do?" Sharon said before the blonde could launch into a diatribe. "There is no proof, no evidence that he did this, and I'm pretty sure that, after you had him for keying my car, he was careful enough to wear gloves."

"I don't think so. He's emotionally-"

"Brenda." Sharon sighed mightily. "Let's just change the tire."

"For heaven's sakes," the blonde muttered under her breath. "I'm just worried, is all."

"Look," Sharon said sternly. "I had a great time tonight and I'd rather not let this ruin it."

Reluctantly, Brenda agreed, rubbing her eyebrow. She was desperate to ask the guy - Shane, according to his name tag - how Crawley did get in here. The fence was barb-wired, there was only one entrance and exit, at least four more guys in forest green jackets valeting cars.

She eyed Shane as he changed the tire, being super extra helpful and super extra nice.

She would have to come back tomorrow, just so Sharon wouldn't find out, and squeeze it out of the boy.

"Did you see the ballet?" He asked, making small talk.

Brenda wanted to tell him to shut it - she could change a tire herself, thank you very much - but Sharon remained pleasant and she didn't want her good mood ruined by something as minor as this.

"I've never been," he said, tightening the nuts. "You guys on a date?"

"Yes," Brenda said immediately, glaring at Sharon who looked most contrite. "Third one!"

"Oh," he smiled. "How did you meet?"

"We work together," the blonde smiled sugary. "At the LAPD."

"Oh." That shut him up.